Guess Who's Coming to Dinner
by Harmonic Friction
Summary: Bob feels bad about how he treated Syndrome as a child. So he and Helen invite Syndrome to have a homecooked meal at their house. Totally alternate universe. Totally shameless.
1. Public Apologies

**Author's Apology: **All right. I've gone Alternate/Universe before, but this is **so **A/U that it makes me think it's totally ridiculous, but, come on, I _thrive _on this kind of subject. I _love _writing about characters who should _never be together/ be in the same room_… with each other, having a meal. And _Incredibles _calls for it! I mean, Helen and Bob are like your nice next-door-neighbors who watch your kids, make homemade meatloaf (Tony loaf?), and have family game night. Syndrome and Mirage are like, the anti-Parr: all yuppie/hippie, with their _volcano _and their tons of money and gadgets and selfish natures. So I have to write this. And I'd like to say it could never happen, and that it's total BS, but I believe in it! So without further adieu—

* * *

_Guess Who's Coming to Dinner._

"_Bob," _Helen Parr said waringly. "You need to get up and get your laundry—how many times do I have to tell you I'm _not _going to iron your suit any more, it's not enough that I have to cook dinner, clean the kids' rooms—"

"Honey, _hush_," replied her husband, not looking away from the television, his grey eyes fixated on the news.

Helen's expression darkened; she frowned sullenly: "_Don't _tell me you just told me to _hush—"_

"Helen! Stop talking for half a second and _look at this!_" Bob blurted, and motioned her over, never taking his eyes away from the news.

"I don't see what the—_oh."_

On the screen was a young man with bright red shocks of hair. His stunning blue gaze seemed to grind through the television. He looked little-boyish and almost jovial. "I thought it was time for me to publicly apologize for all the damage I've done," he said, his voice oddly animated. "At that time, I was criminally insane—"

"**You think so?"**

"_Sh!"_

--"and if _anyone _was harmed it wasn't on purpose. Syndrome, heh, _I, _ wasn't supposed to spread _hate!_ So if you'll accept my apologies, I'd be very grateful. I'm sorry, American people. I'm sorry, Chicago. I'm sorry. And Mr. Incredible—" the redhead stared straight ahead.

Bob jumped a little.

"Please accept my sorries to you and yours."

:"Well, there you have it, folks. Could this be the end to the strange Incredibles versus Buddy Pine case? Is this _enough _to pay for all of the damages?"

_Click._

"Sorries? That's not even a word," Helen muttered. "Bob, _how _is he doing this? First criminally insane, now this?"

Bob shrugged. "Everyone loves public apologies. And Buddy _was _a pretty scary little child—I read in the Times that he's on strict medication now, I mean, he was pretty sick in the head."

"_What _are you _saying? Are you forgiving him?"_

"No! Christ, no!" Bob pounded his fist into his hand. "I guess I'm saying… Agent Dicker's probably gonna get on us about this. I mean, a _super villain _**apologizing!**? These are _certainly _the days."

"Just forget it, Bob. What can we do?"

Robert Parr sighed. "Isn't it obvious? We have to step up. We can't look like old fogies, or look rude. We're the heroes."

"_Bob. _I can't believe you! First, you spent all of your time obsessing over his trial, and you were _so _moody when he wasn't convicted and now?" Helen smoothed her husband's hair gently and smiled. "Just let it go. Let him go. So justice didn't prevail this time. So what?"

"So, I owe this kid, Helen, and you know it!" Bob stood up and began to pace the room. "I wasn't going to go this far, but he's so damned _on the ball. _My god, public apologies are more _in _then hero work!"

"Well, make one to _him_, then! He doesn't deserve much more than that!"

"Helen, I **made **a super villain! **Me! **If I would've just listened to the poor kid, maybe he wouldn't _still _be running around in a super suit and trying to make the world obey him! Maybe no one would have died, then!"

Helen sat down quietly and rubbed her temples slowly. "You can't blame yourself, we've been through this."

"I _know _we've been through it, Helen, and you _know _it was my fault and I know it, and that miserable, bitter Buddy Pine knows it, too. Let's just do something nice for him and get over it."

"Oh no," Helen shook her head, standing up. "This is your project, Bob. _Yours. _Not mine!"

"Come on, we're in this together!"

"I didn't break him!"

"You sucker punched his galpal. That was kind of a blow."

Helen rolled her eyes. "She deserved it."

Bob was about to defend the mentioned woman, but decided it was against his better judgment. "Look, just help me! Give me an idea, you're good at that!"

"What do you want me to do? Invite him to _dinner?"_


	2. Incredible Gets the Dinner Date Jitters

_Chapter Two: Mr. Incredible Gets the Pre-Dinner Date Jitters_

_**One Month Later**_

Bob shook his head, surveying himself in the bathroom mirror. "Why are you making me do this?

"I knew it would come down to you blaming me," his wife smirked. "Look, we can call his people and cancel. You know that."

"Yeah, but we'd be giving up. _I'd _be giving up. Again."

"Then quit complaining and fix your tie!"

Bob glowered. "I mean, is he _really _cured, or did he just throw some money at few choice orphanages to clear his name?"

"Perhaps a little of both, dear," Helen smiled, taking it in her own hands to fix his tie, since he was standing firm against the wall.

A pair of shoes against the back wall shifted.

"Violet, dear," Helen said calmly," Dad's very stressed. Could you give him a moment?" She opened the bathroom door and gestured for her daughter to follow.

Appearing slowly, Violet shrugged. Her black hair flowed in front of her face, but her posture had improved decidedly. "_Fine, _Mom. But are we going to die?"

"What, sweetie? No, of course not! Government officials will be present, outside, if Syndrome attempts any violence. You have to understand that your father has made a very big decision, a very good decision."

"I know. I still don't understand why we're having a psycho over for dinner, though."

"Oh, Violet. Bless you and your sensibility."

"I agree, Mom!" responded a blur. "I mean, Syndrome tried to _kill _us and all this kind of weird stuff, and plus he blew up our house and he—"

"Dash, I can't understand you when you ramble. Change your shirt—you don't want him to think he's better than us."

Violet and her brother gave each other Looks and left the room.

"Honey?" questioned Bob.

"Yeah?"

"Why are we doing this again?"

Helen shrugged. "I don't really know. But you said it yourself: if we back out now, we'll look like idiots."

Bob sighed. "We're inviting a murderer, failed kidnapper, and ex-Super villain to our house. I'd say we're idiots all ready."

* * *

**AN: **Ah, yes. The merits of A/U fic. "Why are we--" "Doesn't matter, it's alternate universe." 


	3. The Smiths Meet the Smithsonians

_Chapter Three—The Smiths Meet the Smithsonians

* * *

_

_Ding dong._

"Don't get the door!" Bob whispered, sweating profusely.

"I agree with Dad!" Dash declared, and stopped racing up the wall.

"_Gah, Dada, bada!" _Jack-Jack screamed happily from his highchair.

"_Bob_, _Dash, Jack-Jack," _warned Helen, cocking her eyebrow. "We've dug our grave now, and we can't be rude."

"_Our grave? _Mom, that's horrific!" Violet threw up her hands and made herself invisible as her mother made her way to the front door.

"_Bob, get over here!" _demanded Helen shrilly. "This is _your _funeral."

"**Mom!" **Violet shrieked, throwing her hands up in the air once more.

"Kids! Don't be rude!"

"Whose side are you on, Helen?" Bob challenged.

"Oh, Bob, let's not act immature. Open the door."

_Ding dong. _

"Coming!" Bob panted, and stood rooted to the spot.

Helen sent him a piercing glare.

"_Fine." _Defeated, he crossed the room and s-l-o-w-l-y looked through the peephole. A blue eye greeted him. "Oh lord," he muttered. Shaking slightly, he pulled the door open.

Standing in front of the shocked Parrs was not Buddy Pine—no, Buddy Pine was as dead as disco and elevator shoes, though he sometimes did special appearances on weekends. He may not have been wearing his mask, but he was Syndrome in the flesh. Clad in an all black suit and blinding white tie, with his hair in all of its huge glory, he raised his hand and gave a slight wave.

"Hello, there," he chortled.

"Hi," Helen offered.

"Umph," grunted Bob.

Violet and Dash stared, terrified.

"Dah!" Jack-Jack squealed happily, pointing at the familiar ex-babysitter.

"_You_," the red-haired man voiced pleasantly, and pointed back. "You. _Just keep being a baby and we'll be fine," _he muttered. Directing his gaze back to Bob and Helen, he smiled. "Thanks so much for the invite. If this'd happened when I was in love with you, Mr. Incredible, I'd totally be glomping you for all you're worth right now! But I've moved past being a stalker, so let's engage in a good, friendly handshake."

Bob's face became less pale. "All right, sure," he said sullenly, and stuck out his hand good-naturedly.

Syndrome chuckled. "Are you _kidding? Are you freakin' kidding? _You're Mr. Incredible!" he shouted. "You're **Mr. Incredible **and I'm in your house!" He suddenly ran at Bob and attached himself to his waist.

"Uh... Mom?" questioned Violet.

Helen was too awed to answer.

"Oh _God," _complained another voice from the doorway. "One second inside, and you're _all ready _scaring the poor man."

The family's attention went directly to the woman who watched the scene so coolly.

"Sorry I'm late coming in," Mirage continued," but we brought dessert and he refused to wait for me as I retrieved it from the back of the limo. _Hello._"

Bob perked up reasonably despite the short man who was still hugging him with a strange fury. "Mirage—nice to see you again!"

"And you. And Elastigirl, how have you _been_?" Mirage tugged Syndrome away from Incredible with her free hand and he did a sort of twirl, landing beside her.

Helen watched the younger woman skeptically, her eyes wandering down to her skirt, which was at least two inches above her knees. She noticed her husband doing the same, and gave him a very evil look. "Wow. I thought you were going solo, Mirage," she said darkly. "I thought—"

"Elastigirl, after our conversation, I felt empowered, but I _had _to visit Syndrome in the burn unit. And when I saw him, I couldn't resist… Even if he _did _almost let me get crushed." She and Syndrome smiled at each other affectionately.

Bob shuffled his feet.

"Sorry about that," he muttered.

"It wasn't your fault!" Mirage affirmed, not at all vexed. "Syndrome nearly killed me. But you know what, he _needed _me, and I wanted to be there for him."

Syndrome fingered her hair and finally rested his arm around her shoulder in a lose manner. "She forgave me, I forgave her—"

Helen looked sour. "_You _forgave _her? You little p-"_

"Oh, boy, do you smell burning meatloaf?" Bob yelled, and pushed his wife in the direction of the kitchen. He knew Helen's limits, and she could be a raving femi-Nazi. Helen shot him a dirty look, but the two of them went into the kitchen to collect themselves.

Violet surveyed Mirage and subconsciously fingered her own thigh.

Mirage noticed the girl's stare and smiled prettily. "Oh, hello. Sorry, were we ever introduced?"

Violet shook her head shyly.

"Well, I'm _Mirage._" She walked forward and took Violet's hand in both of hers. "I wish I could take back everything that happened."

"Yeah, well, join the club," Syndrome proclaimed lightly, wandering about the Parr home with a curious, fangirl-ish expression.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Violet Parr," the teenager smiled.

"And I'm Dash! You have a limo?" The short, grinning child appeared like a flash.

Mirage laughed. "Yes."

Between this information, and Mirage's very tiny skirt, Dash was feeling better and better about this dinner party.

Violet suddenly noticed the 'dessert' that Syndrome and Mirage had brought. "What _is _that?"

"Oh, it's actually quite delicious. It's a sweet red bean paste, really popular in Japan. It's great on vanilla ice cream!" she exclaimed.

"We're health foodies. Well, _she _is, and it's one of the things we, being Mirage, agreed on," Syndrome explained, wiping dust off of a family portrait. "And no, we didn't bring any ice cream with us." He looked tragic.

"Stop," Mirage said playfully. "You're so pathetic."

But, staring at the contents of the bowl, both Violet and Dash hardly thought Syndrome was pathetic.

* * *

**AN: **Sweet bean paste actually _is _really good. :shrug: 


End file.
